


Baby Blues

by aphelios



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-27
Updated: 2014-08-27
Packaged: 2018-02-15 00:19:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2208543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphelios/pseuds/aphelios
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He's an alien." Tucker says, just out of the blue. Wash at first has no idea what he's talking about, as the conversation had ended, he'd thought, a while ago, but when he comes to realize there's a thousand things he wants to say.</p><p>Starting with, <i>Tucker that's fucking gross why would you fuck an alien.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby Blues

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place in season 11, sometime post-crash pre-Felix.
> 
> I only kind of proof read this, so please let me know if there are any typos I need to fix!
> 
> ~~**EDIT:** It has been brought to my attention that there is a line in here that is insensitive towards gender identity. I’m sorry for any upset this causes, and if it’s really offensive and ignorant, let me know and I will change it.~~
> 
> **EDIT 2:** The problematic line has been replaced with something less ignorant. Thanks to tumblr user jollysooks for pointing out the issue and helping me fix it.

“Hey, Caboose,” Wash says, and though he’s speaking to the teammate beside him, Agent Washington can’t take his eyes off of the slumped soldier sitting outside. “What’s wrong with Tucker?”

“Hm?” The blue walks closer to the window and follows Wash’s line of sight. “Oh, yeah. Tucker always gets sad like this sometimes.” He shrugs dismissively. “I like to leave him alone more when he does, because he can be very mean and it hurts my feelings.”

“Huh,” Wash bites the inside of his cheek. Should he do something? He turns to ask his teammate, but he’s already meandered away. He probably shouldn’t intervene. Tucker’s problems are Tucker’s problems, and if he wants Wash’s help, he’ll ask for it. Except he won’t. Of course he won’t.

Tucker can deal with it, though. If Caboose is right, then he deals with this often. All of that has got to leave him with some method of coping, right? Whatever he’s doing now is probably just him coping. He probably wants to be alone— but maybe he wants some company.

Agent Washington sighs, and shakes his head. He’s being stupid. Tucker is his teammate— no, his friend— and if there’s one thing friends do, it’s help each other, whether that help is wanted or not. He reminds himself where Tucker’s sitting, gives himself some landmarks just in case he forgets, and pushes away from the window.

The walk to Tucker isn’t long, but he’s just far enough away from the base to make it clear that he wants to be left alone. Washington comes up behind him, and just observes once more, taking in the little details that he missed from the window. Tucker’s sitting on the ground, wearing grey sweatpants, a tank, and a pair of black socks. His shoes are left a few feet behind him, looking as though he simply stepped out of them as he walked and didn’t look back.

Small piles of rocks are scattered in front and to the left of the soldier, and each has a stick poking out of a small gap near the top. The grass is abnormally short in some places, like Tucker has been ripping out handfuls of it, which is only proved by the torn grass thrown carelessly on the ground.

Washington briefly wonders if it’s too late to go back to base and just let Tucker figure whatever out himself, but he instead finds himself saying, “You’re not wearing your armor.”

Tucker doesn’t do anything to signal that he heard Wash. A moment passes, only to be interrupted by a monotone, “Why bother? It’s not like the reds are going to attack me or anything.”

Well, it’s not a ‘fuck off’, so Wash figures it’s safe for him to sit down. He does so carefully, making sure to not touch any of the rock piles. “They might.”

“Let them.”

Washington turns his head to look at Tucker, trying to meet his eyes but the soldier doesn’t move at all but to rip another handful of grass out of the dirt. Washington gives up quickly on the attempted eye contact, and instead studies his friend’s face, not quite sure what he’s looking for, or even if he finds it. Discontented, he turns away and focuses on the grass in front of him, choosing to mimic Tucker’s actions and grasps a handful of grass tightly, forcefully pulling his hand back and finding satisfaction in the soft tearing sound. Slightly more coherent than a murmur, Washington says uncertainly, “You don’t really mean that.”

“I might.”

Washington glances at him, and this time Tucker actually meets his eye before aiming his own back at the ground. Something close to a sigh passes his lips. “I don’t.”

Wash feels the relief course through him, and lets the assurance fade into a companionable silence, filled only with the quiet rending of the grass. He wants to ask Tucker what’s bothering him. God, he wants to ask. But his mouth goes dry just when he thinks to open it, and he wonders if maybe he doesn’t really want to know. Tucker wouldn’t mind if the reds attacked him and, despite their lack of talent in the battlefield, inevitably killed him. Tucker wouldn’t mind. He wouldn’t care. What’s Wash supposed to do with that? Of course, he did say that he doesn’t really feel that way, but it’s possible that he only found that conclusion because Wash  _told_  him he didn’t really feel that way. Did Wash decide that for him? What would that even mean?

Washington has a lot of questions for Tucker, but he asks none. Tucker doesn’t need that right now. If he wants to talk, then he’ll talk. Unless he’s acting like Wash and simply not talking because he doesn’t think he should right now, or even doesn’t really feel that he can, or finds himself not wanting to hear half the answers he’s seeking, or maybe—. No. Wash is over-thinking everything, and should just be patient. If Tucker wants to talk, Tucker will talk.

The quiet stretches on, and Wash’s list of questions and concerns has grown exponentially larger, and the ex-freelancer is almost startled when Tucker speaks. His voice is soft, and though his tone is guarded, there’s a hint of fondness as he asks, “You have any kids?”

The question confuses Wash a bit, but he decides to just go with it. “No, I never had the chance.”

“Mm,” Tucker nods, and falls back into silence.

Curious, Wash prods, “What about you?”

“Yeah,” he replies, a small smile tugging at the side of his mouth. Washington tries to hide his surprise. Tucker? With a kid? His stomach twists as he involuntarily thinks of whatever woman Tucker has back home, but he ignores the feeling. Attempts to, at least. ‘Mother of his child’ leaves a bad taste in his mouth, without even having to speak the words. To say Wash has been repressing a very little, very  _tiny_ , damn near  _minuscule_  crush on Lavernius Tucker would be saying too little, but once again Wash shoves it down and forces it into a folder marked 'LATER' in big, red letters.

“Today is his birthday.” The way Tucker says it, the words just sound so fragile, like they’re something to be protected. The soldier looks to Wash, his eyes beginning to water so he wipes at them before any tears can fall. “I miss him. A lot.”

It’s almost like Wash is putting on a pair of glasses for the first time and finally seeing that trees have individual leaves, and aren't just big blurs of green on big blurs of brown. Tucker gets depressed every day on his kid’s birthday because he misses him. Washington doesn’t know what to say— he obviously can’t bring Tucker to his kid, can’t make a father stop missing his child. Wash can’t fix the situation, but he can’t just sit here and do nothing either. So deciding not to think too much about his actions, he scoots closer until their hips are just shy of touching, and he wraps his right arm around Tucker’s waist, secretly clenching his opposite fist in the grass at the sensation of being so close. Tucker stiffens, but it's only a moment before he relaxes into Wash and lies his head on Wash’s shoulder.

Tucker takes a deep breath, and when he exhales, he tickles Wash’s neck. “Did you really not know that I had a kid?”

“No, I really had no idea.”

“Huh. Sometimes I forget how… new you are.”

“Why?”

“Everyone here knows about Junior,” Tucker explains. “Even Doc. They were all there when he was born, and it’s kind of weird because you weren’t, but I feel like I’ve known you just as long as I’ve known everybody else.”

Wash's brow furrows, confused. "All of them were?"

"Yeah."

"Even the... reds?"

"Well," Tucker shifts a little, adjusting his head and letting more of his weight lean on Wash. "I guess, kind of. I mean, they were at their base, but--"

"Your kid was born here?" The surprise is evident in the way he speaks, the disbelief making his words sudden and perhaps a little louder than they need to be. He collects himself, and tries again. "You had a kid  _while_  you were in the army? Fighting a war?"

"A war against four morons and a Spanish-speaking robot."

"Still--"

"Also I was a simulation trooper, so with that being said, not really fighting a war." Tucker shifts again, rubbing his head against Wash's shoulder. 

Washington sighs, but allows himself a moment to feel glad that he hadn't yet put on his armor for the day before coming out to check on Tucker. They fall into another silence, Wash picking grass, and Tucker just leaning on him, not really moving, not really making any sounds. Just resting, possibly sleeping, but Wash isn't sure that Tucker would be comfortable enough to fall asleep in the open without his armor on. Simulation soldier or not, war changes things about you, from little, unnoticeable things to something drastic enough that neither you nor anyone who knew you before is quite sure you're the same person.

"He's an alien." Tucker says, just out of the blue. Wash at first has no idea what he's talking about, as the conversation had ended, he'd thought, a while ago, but when he comes to realize there's a thousand things he wants to say.

Starting with,  _Tucker that's fucking gross why would you fuck an alien._ But he doesn't say that. He wonders who made a move on who, but he doesn't ask. He accidentally forms an image in his head of Tucker balls deep in _\--_ no, he stops that thought very quickly. Shuts it down. Erases it from his mind, wraps it up in a big ball of  _no fucking way_ , moves it to a folder labeled 'SWITCH THE FLUIDS IN YOUR BRAIN WITH BLEACH', and then he burns that folder. And then he says the only non offensive thing he can think of to Tucker the Alien Fucker, and that thing is a short, sweet, and simple,

"Huh."

" _Huh_?" Tucker sounds flabbergasted. He lifts his head to look Wash in the eye. "I had a kid with an alien and all you have to say is  _huh?_ "

Wash stares back at him, carefully controlling his expression. "Is there something specific you want me to say?"

"Well," Tucker sits up straight, leaving Washington's right side cooler than it was a moment before. " _No_ , not specifically. But that's weird, right? Having an alien kid? Don't you think that's weird?"

 _Yes_. "Do you?"

Tucker hesitates. He opens his mouth and a sound comes out. He closes his mouth. He looks away from Agent Washington, he looks at the grass, and he looks at the piles of rocks, and he adds a small pebble to the one closest to him. Washington wants to ask why he built these small pyramids made of stick and stone, but again, he doesn't. He sits there, quiet, and observes the lack of expression in Tucker's face.

"I don't think that Junior's weird," Tucker's voice is low and hard to hear. "But the whole birth situation-- I don't remember much. I met the alien on some weird adventure with Caboose, I guess. There was this freelancer, Wyoming--"

"Wyoming?" Wash almost smiles. Interesting guy, Wyoming. "I knew him, back in the project. Big fan of knock knock jokes."

"He tried to kill me." Tucker says bluntly.

"Oh. Ah, sorry."

The under-dressed soldier shrugs. "He didn't, obviously. But, anyways, Church had his ghost thing going on, AI thing, whatever, so he was possessing the body of a robot that the reds made for us in exchange for like, Lopez or something, and I guess that his body had a bomb in it, and Doc had Omega inside of him, so he was trying to kill us, and Omega sent Wyoming to kill me, and we were trying to get Church to stop ticking, but then he blew up and killed Wyoming and sent me, Caboose, and the reds into the future, and sent himself into the past, and then there was like, an apocalypse or something?

And Doc I guess was with us in the future, and we were going to kill him, but not actually Doc-Doc, but Omega-Doc, so we like found this place where he was, I don't know, details are blurry, it was a long time ago, and I fell into this hole and I found my cool sword and then Tex had a bomb and he talked and his name is Andy and he's a fucking asshole, and so we brought it into the base and then the base shut down because apparently my sword was a key and Andy was going to blow up and then Church came--"

"I thought you said Church was in the past."

"He was, but then he was in the future with us, and then the alien was there, and then he killed Tex, and we were trying to teach him English and he said his name was Honk Honk-- or he said his name  _wasn't_  Honk Honk, we couldn't tell his yes's apart from his no's, but I know now because Junior speaks the same language, and of course I can speak to my own child, so I'm like bilingual, but anyways the alien attacked me because I had the sword and he had some prophecy so he made me fulfill it and we took Caboose and then he knocked me up--"

"Wait,  _he_  knocked  _you_  up?" Washington, through this great ordeal of a story, had tried his best to keep up and not interrupt, but  _Jesus._ How could this even be a real story? 

"Yeah, it was really fucked up." Tucker shrugs.

"How did you...?" Wash trails off, hoping Tucker will understand what he's trying to ask.

"Give birth?" He asks, and Wash nods his confirmation. Tucker just shakes his head, and mutters, "Let's not get into that."

Wash stares straight ahead and tries to process everything he just heard. “So were you born a woman? Not— not that you’re a woman! I meant, um, were you assigned female after you were born? I— I know you’re a guy.”

"No dude," he says with a halfhearted smirk, "I've just got some really impressive skills that I can't put on a resumé."

Wash smiles and gives a small huff. They fall back into silence, and Tucker leans on Washington's shoulder once more, adjusting himself when he gets an arm around the waist in return. Wash rests his head against the top of Tucker's and closes his eyes; the previous night had not done him well, and though he pushes through it he's exhausted. He nearly falls asleep to the almost rhythmic tune of Tucker pulling grass, nearly falls asleep to the comfort of a warm body, nearly falls asleep to steady breathing in front of a broken ship and an empty canyon. He forgets about the potential danger (which really, he decided long ago, excludes the reds. Let's just be honest here.), and he forgets about the vulnerability and _very nearly_ falls asleep leaning against the father of a cross species child.

That is, until the father of a cross species child says quietly, "We used to build these together," and Wash opens his eyes and suppresses a yawn.

"Build...?" He trails off and tries not to sound as tired as he is.

"These little forts." Tucker doesn't gesture or even move, really, but after a moment Washington puts two and two together. The rock piles. He stays quiet, and let's Tucker continue while his eyes wander over the pyramids. "Command doesn't ship you off with baby toys, y'know? So we had to improvise. There were rocks all over Blood Gulch, it was kind of ridiculous really. I'd recommend always wearing shoes, because shit gets sharp."

Tucker shifts against Wash until he's laying with his head on his friend's lap, facing the rocks. "It was kind of fun. We'd see who could build the tallest, sometimes we'd find sticks for one another and your pile had to be big enough to support it. There weren't many trees around but one time I swear he came back with a log for me. Needless to say he won that round."

The fond smile on Tucker's face is enough to make anyone feel gooey inside, and Wash can't help but return it. Tucker rolls onto his back and looks up at the sky. The ex-freelancer takes the quiet moment to stare at Tucker, at his dark eyes that truly sparkle when the sun hits them just right, quickly turning into walnut wood brown with specks and streaks of gold. And then there's his ridiculous dreads that _absolutely do not_ follow protocol, but he's never seen anyone more dedicated to proper hair care than Tucker, and for all that they drive each other crazy, Wash hasn't ever really met someone as beauti--

"Why are you staring at me?" Tucker asks, a small smile playing at his lips.

Washington feels his ears burn as he tries to stutter out an excuse, but Tucker's smile grows and he starts to laugh, something that almost sounds genuine, and Wash can't help it, he stops stammering and starts laughing, too. They're not loud, their laughter doesn't echo off of the crash site, but the air feels lighter and Tucker's not frowning, and Wash decides that this is good.

It's not long before they're just smiling at each other, not long before Wash absentmindedly plays with Tucker's dreads, not long before Tucker's eyes are closing. His chest rises and falls at a steady pace, and Wash stays quiet so as not to wake him if he's sleeping, or at the very least to keep him settled while he rests.

 _Yeah,_ he thinks to himself, _this is good._


End file.
